Chalk From the Moon: Book 2 Discovery
by WrittenAvarice
Summary: The second story in the Chalk From the Moon series. Our protagonist Michael has found himself in a terrible summer job, and in a terrible situation. But being haunted can't really be that bad... can it?
1. Guilty Pleasure

I am violent. And I am a murderer...

I'll start by bridging the distance from a happy child who's finally found his father, to now, and the troubling details in between. It is a story worthy of that, and I plan to have it heard. If only read by the eyes of a single stranger. Because we are real, and we are violent... and we do kill.

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Seven years passed. Seven years of school packed under my belt, and seven years of experience in learning what no other child I'd ever meet, could. Stalking prey, if only domesticated animals or wild rabbits and deer, was something I excelled in quickly. I've hunted down every local wild life, from rats to a full grown moose. The latter being with a pack; even with all my help was a difficult task to handle. I'd tried to find the best way to kill an alligator, but I couldn't get close enough, nor flank it in a way that he couldn't use his teeth nor tail to attack. And even if it was only for an hour, I decided it impossible.

My first kill, was an unlucky rabbit right out side of house. I'd seen it poking around Wilson's new little vegetable garden (something no werewolf would ever turn too for food), and changed in my room, strafed the roof as best as I could, and took it by surprise. I snapped my left, hind leg like a twig when I landed, but that only took about a month to fully heal. I still said it was worth it.

To my surprise, I found my favorite thing about hunting was the release that I got out of it. Those horrible day dreams I used to have, seemed to lessen as I hunted more and more. I guess the only way to cure violent thoughts, are with wholesome, and violent actions. Either way was fine with me. But nothing in any little speech I'd ever been given about hunting, could prepare me for the most delicious reward for natural action. The taste of blood.

My father says that the humans have adrenaline. Whereas it runs constantly in us, we need something else to give us that extra push to work for what we love. The salty red goo that fills every creature worth hunting, killing, and eating. It's the most beautiful liquid of them all. Whether it's seeping through the gaps between our canine teeth, or bleeding out of a gaping wound caused by our claws... it was beautiful and exquisite.

All this was found out early on, before I was nine. About two months if I remember correctly. And during my time with the other three, I also learned how to adapt to normal human behavior. A lot of werewolves are found out and killed by packs before they can fix whatever trouble they'd found themselves in, all because they couldn't adapt. Heightened senses, instinctive urges, hardened sex drives... all these variables are jacked up about twelve notches after their initial change. Luckily for me, I was too young to experience the last. But the other two... they were definite problems.

Heightened senses. They fluctuate during the day, no matter what is happening. They aren't strung down by circumstances, nor schedule, they are instinctively... random. A perfect example could be when I'm around smokers. Sometimes, I'm not bothered, other times I can't breathe! It is a horrible process to go through, and it all takes place in that first year of transformation. As a newborn, our bodies adapt to our specific needs, much like spandex covers the skin of a gymnast so he/she can perform at their peak. And not to sound anxious, but after that first year, when my body finally adapted to my surroundings... well, it felt like Christmas.

I remember smelling the crisp scent of fresh grass clippings from the highway contractors, about a mile south from where I stood. The sights were gorgeous. Green leaves were bright like glow sticks hanging from twigs. The sun shown brilliantly, and brighter than ever. And the light-blue sky, was an endless landscape, constantly being repainted by the clouds above it.

Taste was another thing. I could say that eating a good, (rare) steak was orgasmic... but that would be uncalled for. That salty, crimson, river of taste, though... that was what started my addiction to hunting. I loved it. I couldn't go more than a week without getting an early morning rabbit for breakfast, or tracking down a local pig. (This was always a strange thing. You see, I love the taste of pig when I'm changed... but aside from bacon, I hate ham!)

And after my little adventures with my new found senses, was the hurdle of my life. Instinct.

People are food. At least, that's what my body says. And I knew that when the time came, and I finally gave in, I knew it would be a truth that everyone would know. My eyes were green. I knew this, and so did my father, my uncle, and whatever Derrick was. Claire knew my eyes were green... The minute that the blood, of a human, or werewolf, sank itself into my system... that cobalt blue, ring of truth would arise around my green irises. It'd be faint like Derrick's, but it'd be there.

I noticed though, that Wilson's brown eyes were totally clean, and so were Claire's (When she came to visit.) My father's though, were totally blue. I was sure that even HE didn't know what his original eye color was. Having eaten its way into the little black dots centered in his cornea, the blood of his enemies stained his sight blue. Forever, and forever more.

This was the price, and were as some saw the rings as the mark of an excellent hunter... more saw it as passage into hell, and a reason to be killed. As I learned about my kind, I found it harsh, that many of our kind were killed when their eyes became totally blue. Even if it was all for the better, the corruption of those kills, were too much to weigh on the human spirit, that each and every one of us possessed.

Another instinct was to stalk. This instinct usually kicked in while I was in a mall, or grocery store (really, anywhere where I'd forget about it, and let my guard down). I could control it in school, and even afterwards when the schools threshold was broken by hundreds of children and teens, flooding the courtyard. But anywhere, where I was distracted, or just not paying attention... became a problem.

I've followed people out to their cars before realizing it. And where as it was embarrassing for me, I was always conscious enough about it, to stay out of their sight.

The final, and most forgiving instinct, was food. I could eat. Hell, I could give Derrick and Wilson a run for their money combined. When I was human, I had a fast metabolism, and repressed ADHD (Attention Deficit, Hyperactive Disorder) to back my stomach up. I was always thin, and ready for more. And now, that was tripled by sheer circumstance. And that's where that problem came in. I couldn't eat like that in public. You see, that would attract too much attention. And no matter how tasty, a hot-dog eating contest sounded, I was forbidden from participating! You'd be damn straight for saying it was unfair! And so to fix this problem, (cause they only give you once serving of meat and some crap vegetables for lunch at school) I stocked my book bag as if it was the Willy Wonka Chocolate factory. I shoved beef jerky, tootsie rolls, left overs from the night before, Doritos that I'd smashed practically into dust for space, sunflower seeds, homemade beef jerky, a couple of snack packs, a few peanut butter sandwiches, and a can of coke to wash it down... daily.

Then there was my lunch box. According to my numerous tests, if lucky, a full roast could fit in there cut up... but it was definitely noticeable during lunch. And I thought it funny how the people around me reacted as they removed their petty sandwiches as they looked over to me with a full coarse meal sitting in front of me. GOD!!! I felt like a king.

But then my dad was called into the school for the bizarre way in which I ate it (mouth fulls). And I suddenly couldn't do _that_ anymore.

I got into a lot of trouble that first year. And a lot of it, was when I was left alone. I'd get bored, and think to myself... 'Why not?' Every other week, I was grounded. Not like I had any friends, so they'd ground me from things like, outside, and TV. My two greatest loves. I once got grounded, and Derrick, wanting to throw salt on the wounds of my defeat, bought a brand new Nintendo. And I couldn't even watch him play.

All I could do was sit on the stairs, and listen to the 8-bit sound effects of the revolutionary system. It was the first video game system I'd ever seen, and I knew it wouldn't be the last... mainly because when I finally got... un-grounded (?), I was on that thing like white on rice. Whereas I didn't play it enough to alter my schedule or anything, I did play it enough to learn how to beat Contra, without the thirty lives cheat! For about a month after my first victory, I'd beat it in about twenty minutes, every day before school. I guess, at the time, I was an easy addict.

But I think the greatest thing about my childhood, were the people who came to visit!


	2. Stranger's Visit

I met many people, werewolves, over the seven years I spent in that house. Most of them would just be a few loners, or mutts as my dad calls them, just looking for a place to sleep. But the more interesting ones were entire families. I don't really mean entire as in more than ten, but brothers, sisters, moms, and dads, all traveling together. I'd have never imagined, such a thing could exist.

I learned as they came, that we (Dad, Uncle Wilson, and Derrick, who was starting to become like a brother too me), were here for a reason. We were what you'd call an outpost. It definitely explained the huge house. The living area where we communed was just the base of the house. And as I discovered as a child, there were over a dozen more rooms in the back. All fully furnished, and kept up in terms of comfort. Wooden TV's were replaced with larger, plastic encased TV's to cut down on their weight. And there were literally hundreds of other details that My father and Wilson covered monthly. From replacing old toilet paper, and soaps, to spraying for bugs and checking the wiring in each room, they were on it. Whereas, I, was never allowed back there. Mainly because, I'd be exploring, get hyped up, then break something within the first hour. Thankfully, they never made me clean when I was punished. A bullet that I was happy to dodge.

When Claire came down, being practically family too all of us (except my dad), she stayed in the front part of the house. I never told her about me and my dad, mainly because everyone told me not too. They said it would upset her, and without giving a reason why, they'd trust me to listen. I hated this secret more than anything. Why couldn't she know that my dad was... My dad? It wasn't right, but when I pushed the subject... let's just say that you never want to go behind the backs of three, tightly knit, werewolf brothers. (And I say that, because they treat Derrick as such.)

I remember my first encounter with a family was with a family with the last name Danvers. Really, it was just a man and his son, I guessed. He looked ragged... the son. The man was tall, went by the name of Jeremy. He had brown hair, and a stare that I would never forget. It wasn't every day that you could see pure kindness. He didn't seem to have a temper at all, and seeing the child, Clayton that was with him and how he acted... made this man a saint.

First off, while eves dropping on Mr. Danvers and the other three, I learned that he'd found Clayton, wandering in the swamps about an hour south of where I used to live. It was a funny coincidence, and a coincidence it stayed. He was a wild child. He hated bathing, and never talked. And when I went to shake Mr. Danver's hand, he lunged at me and punched me in the face. I drew on him with a permanent marker when he fell asleep though, just as pay back. But that got me punished, even if it did make Mr. Danvers laugh a little... it was still wrong.

Another group that came down was an odd couple. The both of them had a light tent of blue around their eyes, and they were constantly on guard. My dad told me to stay away from them almost immediately after seeing them. I on the other hand, stalked the two, to the point, that they were nervous wrecks, jumping at every noise. I'd learned later that they'd just murdered some stranger they crossed paths with near Bourbon st. He tried to rob them, and they retaliated the same way we all would. Change as fast as possible, and go for the throat. It was a good thing that he'd been using a knife and not a gun, too.

And because I caused them so much discomfort, I got grounded. This was the first time that Daddy grounded me from outside. I was a nervous wreck by day three. I'd definitely learned my lesson in irony that day.

The most unusual guest I'd ever met though, was a man called "The Musician." His reputation was staggering. He knew everyone, he'd say, and everybody knew him. He brought with him, a basic Stratocaster guitar, and a small crate amp that he'd rigged to stay on his bike as he traveled. He had a beautiful Harley-Davidson! Black and chrome was all this man needed for style.

But these basic details weren't what made him so special. It was how he approached people, and the knowledge of that person he had. I remember my first conversation with him, verbatim!

I'd just awoken from a bad dream, and just wanted some water. And when I came downstairs, he was there. He never seemed to sleep, while he was here at least. And another factor that bothered me about him was that he wasn't even a werewolf. He was human. And about as human as you could be. Breathing through his mouth, eating an entire meal and then washing it down with a diet coke to not gain weight... I didn't like him... at first.

"Hey Mikey!" He said, before I'd even gotten into his field of vision.

"Hey." I said groggily as I passed him for the kitchen. My eyes were half open as I held the glass under the sink and turned the cold water handle.

"Still having nightmares about your mom, huh?"

I stood stock still. His voice, came from right behind me, I hadn't even noticed his movement. And it wasn't because I was tired. This was the anomaly that was, The Musician.

"You don't have to say anything to me, just remember it wasn't you're fault. Besides without you, the three upstairs would be doomed to a horrible death." His voice was cool and slow, like ice.

I turned off the water and put it down next to the sink. Turning on the spot, I looked straight at him, those green eyes, that long black hair. This wasn't right.

"What are y-"

"What am I?" He said. He was perfect with his timing. Something that I knew was unnatural. "I am the man with two answers too three of your problems."

He reached forward, and grabbed my head. I could feel the pulse in his palms as something began to happen. My head felt flooded, like everything I knew was being pushed to the back of my skull. It was horrifying. And before I knew it, it was over. And when I blinked, he was gone. Back on the couch, channel surfing, and reading a Time magazine.

"What did you just do?!" I yelled at him.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he reached under the couch, and pulled out a small present. It was wrapped in red wrapping paper, topped with a stick-on bow. It was small, and rectangular, and I instantly knew what it was. Hell, Derrick had bought enough of them for me to know one when I saw it.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"Your birthday is in two days, eighteen minutes, and seventeen seconds from now. Well, you're real one anyway, and I won't be here to see it." He said, motioning for me to grab the present he'd had in his outstretched hand.

I grabbed it, opened it, and saw it was just another video game. Mario Brothers 3. I didn't know it at the time, but exactly two days before he'd arrived, the Louisiana shipment of this game, was lost. No one knew what happened to them. This was an anomaly.

"You'll need both of those gifts. Even if you don't know why now." After that, he looked back at the TV and resumed his channel surfing.

"What was the other gift?"

"In point nine seconds, I taught you how to throw a knife with perfect precision."

"Why?"

"Because it'd be a tragedy if I didn't." He said. His voice was tainted with a sad tone. I really didn't like this man.

"Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"I've met you two hundred and sixteen times. And we never got along once... But please trust what I've given you. That's all I ask."

I stood there, wanting to move far away from him, he was so creepy! How, HOW COULD HE KNOW THIS!!!

"You once asked what I was. I'm a reincarnate. Burdened by the fact that I'll relive this life a million times before I can be released from this world. This is year six hundred exactly."

That night was... strange. But memorable. And as I left him to his crazy little world, he asked me a question. Something I'd never thought about, something that wasn't crazy at all.

"If I exist, and you exist... Do you think there are other's out there? Vampires, Demons... Witches?"

He was by far, the creepiest man I'd ever met. But by far, the most interesting.

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The man left the day after. I wasn't awake to see him off, but I was awoken by his loud bike. His words stuck with me that day. Until the point where I couldn't take it anymore. And so I went into the kitchen, grabbed a random knife out of the drawer, and went outside. It was a sharp steak knife. Light weight and short. I grabbed it by the handle like I usually did when I used it, but it didn't feel right. Sliding it down until the blade was hidden by my middle finger, and curling my thumb over it, I scoped for a target. And I chose the Brinks sign in the front yard, two hundred feet away. I stood erect, balanced myself on my left foot, and then launched it. It hit, almost dead center, and I went inside. I didn't go outside for two days afterwards.


	3. Troublesome Child

My first friend was made in the fourth grade. I'd started in third, after having to take an Initial Placement Test, and then afterwards, talk to a psychiatrist. Which was a load of crap, especially since it cost two hundred dollars, just so some up-tight, pocket-protecting four-eyes could nod after every word I said. I doubted through most of the interview, that he was even paying attention. He just sat there, staring at me. I had an itch to call him a pedophile, just to piss him off. But, I didn't. And he didn't say a single thing other than, "And how did that make you feel? What's going inside... (Dramatic pause), you???" Fringing' douche bag, all smock with his pencils of knowledge lining his shirt pockets!

After my interview, I sat in the waiting room while my dad talked to the con man... err, Psychiatrist. After sitting in there for about an hour, he finally emerged. The nerd was right behind him, smiling as he held a nice, new check. Douche Bag!

"So?" I asked, not really caring what the guy said. But more curious as of why he was in there for an entire hour!

"So? It was the worst two-hundred bucks I'd ever spent!" He said, making me laugh. "You know I love you right?" He said, making it sound as though I owed him one.

"Yep. Love you too Dad."

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One year, three months later, I'm in the principal's office, bleeding, and waiting for my dad. Across from me sat Bobby Denall. I think I cracked one of his ribs when I kicked him, but he deserved it.

Ever since I started going to school, I brought food, one notebook, (Being third grade, that was all I needed) and a pen or two. I also kept that picture of Derrick, my dad and my mom in it. It was... all I had with me here in _their_ world. I obviously couldn't take anyone else with me, that would just be, childish.

Every time I got a chance, I'd take it out and look at it. After I was done with my in-school work, and during lunch, I would take it out. If only to see the happiness of my mom and dad, just one more time before returning to the real world. Even if I couldn't have it, this fantasy of mine, it didn't mean that I couldn't cherish what little piece of it that I could have.

But apparently, I was being stupid. As was said by little Bobby Denall. He wasn't really little; he was actually about five inches taller than me. And when he grabbed the picture out of my hand, I lost it. I punched him in the stomach, and when he doubled over, I grabbed the picture out of his hands.

"It's rude to take things." I said coldly. I turned around and walked along the side of the school. Getting away from the shade to go inside, when things got out of hand.

I probably shouldn't have turned away from him to go back inside, because when I did, he grabbed me, and slammed my head into the wall of the school. It rocked me solid. But I took it. I didn't even fall. Blood ran down the left side of my face as I turned on him and punched him in the throat. And when he fell, I kicked him as hard as I could in the sides. My picture held tightly in my hand.

I was about to stomp on his face when we were broken up by one of the teachers. I think she was the first grade teacher, Mrs. Applebee. And she was very quick to do so. Thinking back, I'm glad. Cause, I'd have probably killed him.

And now, here I sat. The blood on my face was dried by now, and as I found out first hand, dried blood is hard to wash off. It stains the skin if you leave it there for so long. At least I looked pathetic. 'Maybe I'll get away with this!' I thought... Stupidly.

As I waited for my father to come out of the principal's office, I noticed a scrawny little kid, staring at me in awe. "What?" I said irritated.

"I saw you beat up, Bobby!" He said, smiling excitedly. "It was awesome!" His mother sat next to him, an angry lady. She had a beak nose that looked like someone closed it in an elevator door, smashing it to make it bigger. Anyway, she hushed him, and then got back to reading her magazine.

Bobby on the other hand seemed a little embarrassed by what this kid said, which made me like him just a little bit more than I had earlier... which was not even. But even after his mother hushed him, he kept talking. His mother barely even paying attention.

"My name's Nicholas." He whispered. "What's yours?"

"Michael."

"Will you two shut up?" Bobby snorted. I glared at him. I wanted to plant the seat under me right into his face... but that was mostly instinct talking.

"You better watch yourself Bobby, unless you want to feel the wrath of round two." Nick said, making me laugh a little. He was encourage able, I could tell immediately.

But before he could answer, the door swung open, my dad had his angry face on. Something I only saw when I was in trouble. But here I couldn't really tell. Was he being threatening to the principal, or just being angry? Either way, I'd hear about it when we got to the car.

"Michael." He said, "We're going. Get your bag."

Nick and I exchanged a glance of shock as he stormed right past me.

"That's your dad?" He said, a look of horror on his face.

I quickly grabbed my bag, pushed the chair back, gulped, and said, "Yep."

"Good luck!"

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We got into the car; my father ignoring the heat that had been built up inside, even the smell of the dry rotting roof didn't bother him. Instead, he slammed his door shut, put the keys in the ignition, and took a deep breath. Inside, my heart stopped. 'Here it comes...'

"I know I didn't tell you before, but don't fight humans." He said calmly, before staring me right in the eyes. It was the first time he'd ever not yelled at me when I got into trouble. "If your blood would've gotten onto that kids wound, or in his mouth or eyes, he could get infected."

I didn't even think about it. Hell, I would've never thought about it, if it wasn't for him! But that's how the world works. You live, and you learn.

"Other than that," He said, "Good job!" He smiled.

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The next day at lunch, I got a surprise visit from Nick. Rather, he wound up having to sit next to me at lunch. I didn't even notice, having my attention drawn to the scrumptious left over's from the night before! Red beans and rice, with alligator meat! I also had some mash potatoes and gravy, some green beans, an ear of corn, and a Pepsi bottle filled with water from the water fountain.

"Michael?" I looked up, and he was there. Plain as day. And I would have responded if only I could remember his name.

"It's me, Nick."

"Yeah," I said, feigning remembrance. I'd only talked to him, maybe a minute before being rushed out of the principal's office by my father. "I remember now."

"So did you get it?" He asked.

Well, first, that wasn't any of his business! Secondly, due to the fact that he was smiling, he was coming off as a bit creepy. But because of my liking of how excited he was, and my appreciation of coincidences, I answered.

"My dad just said, 'Good Job.'!" I said. I was still a little, hung-up on the idea of him actually saying that.

"Wow! I was so sure that you were going to be in big trouble when he came out!" For a third grade kid, he was actually, really loud. "I mean, he looked so angry!"

I laughed. "He is something else!" I said.

"What about you? Why were you in trouble?" I asked, putting down my spoon to listen.

"I poured Jell-O in Trey Miller's book bag." He said laughing. I laughed a little too. I didn't know who this kid was. To be honest, I think I was laughing at the way Nick laughed. He snorted a lot! And between the two of us, we both couldn't stop laughing.

But then one of the teachers told us to keep it down, said we were bothering the other students. I didn't see why they needed the extra concentration, this was lunch!

"So why?"

"Well, he broke my Nintendo game when he came over the day before."

"Well, I have a bunch back at my house if you want to come over later. My Uncle Derrick buys them." I said, lying about the uncle thing, obviously.

"Do you have, Super Mario Brothers 3?" He asked, "Cause that the one he broke."

"Yeah, but I beat that one a while ago. So you can have it."

"REALLY!?" He practically yelled. My ears rang a little, and the teacher definitely noticed.

She strode over to us, annoyed and angry. She grabbed Nick, and told him to go eat somewhere else, and as she escorted him away from my table, he turned, fighting her, and said, "Just meet me outside after school. By the last bus!"

"Kay!" I yelled across the lunch room at him.

My generosity caught me off guard, and soon I was trying to remember where that game came from. I remembered it was a gift... a gift from...

Shock flooded my system. Enough to keep me from finishing my lunch. It was him! The Musician! He was right...

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That day, seeing as how his house was closer than mine... but still on the way to mine, I went to his house after school. I called the house when I got there, and told Uncle Wilson that I was going to be coming home late. He was happy to pass the information along, and I spent one of the first days in my life, with a friend. Not a guardian, nor a protector. Not a relative or a house mate... a friend.


	4. Ghost Stories

Five years later.

Wind through my shoulder length hair back in a frenzy as we sped along the the four-wheeler trails in the woods behind Nick's house. He floored it as we came upon a dip in the path, and when we hit it, it nearly through me and our cargo off the back end. The 4x4 held its own as it stabilized right before a sharp turn just a few feet ahead.

"Hey! You wanna drive a little better! I almost flew off!" I yelled at Nick.

"Nope! We're almost there!" He replied honestly. The throttle was pushed as far forward as possible, and trees careened by. "Get ready for push off!!!" He said, leaning forward for more speed.

Sitting bitch on the four-wheeler landed me the caretaker job. And what were we carrying? A shorted twenty-six inch TV, attached to a metal chain that we wrapped around it and attached to the back of the four-wheeler. And what were we going to do with it? Smash it of course!

As we exploded from the foliage, I saw exactly what he was hammering on and on about all day. Right in the middle of the clearing, were farmer's rows. Used to plant rows and rows of corn, and quite suddenly, it all became clear.

"Did I not say it would be awesome?!" He yelled over the rushing wind.

"Shut up and tell me when!" I yelled back.

We were only feet away when he began his countdown.

"Three... Two... One... PUSH IT!!!"

I shoved it right off the back, and before we knew it, the six foot slack of the chain had run out, and the TV exploded into the air. Spinning like a ninja star in mid air, it freed itself of plastic shrapnel, which flew in all directions. Then, BOOOM!!! It smashed against the ground, hitting the rows like a Jet Ski hits waves. Dirt and debris shot out in spreads with each blast, and sent flying projectiles into my back and into the back of my head.

"AAHHH!" I yelled, "GO FASTER!"

After a while, I stopped feeling the sting of little TV bullets, and looked behind us. There wasn't a TV anymore. It was just a metal, sink-like tube. The glass was blown out of it, and the plastic covering (wires, solder, connectors) was all gone!

I tapped Nick on the shoulder and he looked back, and then brought us to a stop.

We dismounted, laughing, and barely able to breathe. We were as reckless as you could get. And this was one of the many misadventures that would follow our friendship.

******************************************************************************

I grabbed my book bag from the stowage compartment on the back and pulled out two bottles of water for the both of us. "So what was this proposition that you had for me?" I asked. I'd been listening to him all day about the perfect summer job for the two of us. We'd been going over countless options during the last week of school. And since we'd already taken our final exams, we spent the second to last day enjoying the perks of having a sick day.

"Camp Counselors!" He yelled. His arms shot out in both directions, and the smile on his face was both a surprise to me, and a terrible cover for a terrible idea.

"Gay."

"No. You don't get it! We're not really going to be camp counselors. All we do is set up the daily activities. You know," He said, really trying to convince me. "Put out chairs and shit!"

"He waited anxiously for me to say something. But all I could think was, "Someone's put you up to this, right?"

"No! Dude, it's in the middle of the woods, there's a lake, and most likely, hot camp counselor ladies!" He said, "Besides, what choice do you have. You're dad was pretty adamant about you getting a job."

"I know. I know. But I was thinking, make a grass cutting service or something."

"That's gay." He said, smirking. "Come on! You don't have a choice in the matter anyway." He said, obviously letting something slip.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I yelled. But he kept quiet. His lip quivering, trying not to laugh. I rubbed my forehead, knowing exactly what was going on. "You signed me up already..."

He nodded.

"You owe me." I said looking up at him, "You know that right?!"

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I told my dad about what happened. Derrick, who'd overheard us as he passed, laughed all the way up the stairs. "That's so gay!" He laughed as he went to the upstairs bathroom.

"It's not gay!" I yelled.

He just laughed some more.

I returned my attention to my dad as he sat on the couch. "So will you take me over to the church so I can take my name off the list?" I asked.

"No!" He said, as if I'd said the impossible! "It's the church. You don't turn your back on the church!" He said. Everyone in the house was catholic, which by elimination, made me catholic. Every Sunday, we went to Mass, and every holy holiday (Christmas, Easter, Super bowl Sunday) we went to the celebrations. It was a tradition that was never going to change. Not that I wanted it too, or anything.

"This is gay..." I said in defeat!

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The camp was in the "sticks" near the bridge to Grand Isle, LA. Which, by the way, was a beautiful town. I'd been there once, when my dad got to take a cruise. Everyone in the house came, and it was awesome. But what, I think, was the best, was that (Being an old person's town) that they left the pornographic magazines on the magazine rack in the back. There were old fifties diners, with Juke boxes and crazy fifties crap on the walls. And the beaches... well, the beaches were brown because of the Gulf of Mexico, but they were still fun to swim in!

Me and Nick, rode side by side for five, unholy hours in the back of bus one out of two, full of kids. Nick had his game-boy, but forgot his games... so he played the only one I brought. Killer Instinct! Irony.

We made two stops throughout the whole trip, and the cheery camp counselor, Mr. Fredericks, could not be stricter about keeping everyone together. I couldn't even take a piss until we actually got to our final destination. Which was definitely worth it by then?

After my... evacuation. I was instantly put to work. And according to camp counselor dip-shit, the confidence course wasn't going to build itself!

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That entire first day, was hell. I'd never worked so much. Hell, Nick gave up about two hours before I did, and I worked all the way up until it was too dark too see! I mean, the confidence course was done, and me and Nick ran through it twice to make sure everything was just right, but as soon as we were done, they stuck him on bear detail, and me on inspecting the camp equipment.

The blob was the last thing I'd been working on. It was essentially a giant pillow made of plastic. You blow it up, throw it in the lake, and the campers catapult each other off of it. And I had to admit, it was definitely going to be the first thing I wanted to try out. Before that though, I went through hundreds of wooden chairs, desks, sports equipment, they even brought an entire box of military MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat)!

But for tonight, that'd be enough for me. They weren't too strict on rules here. We were troop ten out of twelve to arrive, and the only people that we ever talked to were each other, Mr. Fredericks, and Camp owner Seymour Hunter. He'd been a great guy when we first got here, and even came out to help me unload the trucks and inspect some equipment. He was an ex Green Beret! Then he turned to the Chaplain corps. Which was essentially, church. After that, he saved up his money, built this place from the ground up, and ran it for the local churches. He charged ten dollars per person, but most of that, plus his retirement check goes towards keeping this place open. He wasn't married, so he could do whatever he wanted. Why not help people?

Mr. Fredericks was... a little less likable. Barking orders like Hitler as he entertained the little five and six year olds. I had to admit though; this place wasn't bad at all.

******************************************************************************

That night, me and Nick hung out around the camp fire, listening to Mr. Seymour's freaky ass ghost stories! He told two, one, (which I thought was funny just because of circumstance) was about a man who'd married the prettiest woman in the county. He'd bought her fancy gifts, up until the wedding, and used the last of his fortune to buy her the biggest diamond ever. Well, that night, a monster broke into the house, and tried to kill him in his sleep. But he fended it off, and chased it into the woods with his musket. And as he aimed, he could see a small glint that guided his aim true. He fired. And when he came across the corps, he found it was a werewolf. And when the beast changed back into its original form, he saw that the glint was a wedding ring, and that the monster was his new wife.

That story sent chills down my spine!

The second was much better. Were as I can't remember every little detail about the story, it goes a little like this:

Back in the very first days of the camp. There was a little girl, who had no friends. Every night she would cry, and every day she would be sad. Until a fire happened. All of the girls got out... except one. Because no one knew she was there. And ever since her death, she has tried to steal a child from the camp, by luring them into the woods by her crying.

It was a creepy story the way he told it, but I'm not a good story teller.

Anyway, after the kids were tucked away, and the camp counselors left for their cots, me and Nick, finally had some time too ourselves. Which we used for sleep.

******************************************************************************

The night's sky held many sounds as I tried to sleep. Crickets, were normal back at home, But the sounds of bugs hitting against the window, wood peckers hollowing out tree trunks, the frogs here even made weird noises. They sounded like cats! Not having any A/C was a factor in my discomfort as well. The humidity seemed greater at night than during the day! That was probably because I worked so hard, that I barely had time to notice.

My bed wasn't what you'd call, 'a bed' either. It was a military brand cot. In reality, it was an X-crossed stand that stretched a thick tarp, tightly across two bars. There were twenty three other cots around me, to my right was Nick. He slept like a baby... snored like an old man though. We were in the back corner. I picked it because of the window... you know, just in case.

To my left were the other morons who'd willingly, let go of their summers to 'help out'. We were all caught off guard here, and every single one of us knew it was unfair.

Hell, they gave the little kids, twin-size beds to sleep on, and all we got were these!

As I bitched on the inside, and tore down every detail of the shack that surrounded us, a sound emerged from the forest. As it rose, everything else seemed to just... fade away. It was a horrible noise. And as it got louder and louder, closer and closer, I pulled the covers over my head, tucked all the corners under me, and clamped my eyes shut.

The noise sounded like it was coming from right above me now. And I could feel her stares... just as I heard her cries...


	5. Doll Tears

Morning finally came. I'd never been so happy to see the sun before. That first night in that shack, left my nerves shot, my heart skipping every other beat, my eyes blood red, and my hands shaking uncontrollably!

It only took Nick two seconds after waking to know how my night went. If only he knew how much I envied him, and his full night's rest. He didn't know how horribly heightened senses could be, and if things stayed uncomplicated, he never would.

"Dear God! Are you alright?!" He asked, concern angled every feature in his face as he grabbed my shaking shoulder. "You look like hell!"

"I'll tell you later. Okay?"

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That entire day, I didn't get a single chance to talk to Nick. But to be honest, I'd much rather have spoken to an exorcist! I didn't do well with fear as a kid, and it definitely doesn't sit well with me as a teen! Being scared felt like an insult. Like I should be running home with my tail tucked between my legs as I yelp uncontrollably. But that's not how my dad raised me.

He raised me on the simple rule that, "If it scares you, Kill it." A lot of his simple solutions involved killing. He was definitely different from the other two.

Even at lunch, I didn't see him. He was nowhere to be seen, yet I could follow his scent all over the camp. And the more I looked for him, the more trouble I got in with Mr. Fredericks. It was an infuriating nine hour day. A day packed with activities, like Bear detail (where I sat on top of a giant tower in the middle of the camp (with no shade) and looked for bears), latrine duty (where I cleaned the dirtiest toilets imaginable, and last but not least, more inventory.

The only upside of the day was when I got a chance to call my dad. But, Derrick picked up instead. And seeing as how I was using my weekly call, I had to use Derrick for advice. Now Derrick, unlike my dad, sometimes had good advice, and sometimes he would just tell me to suck it up and don't be such a puss. Thankfully, today he had the latter.

"It sounds like you're instincts are messing with you." He said simply. I could hear him take a bite out of an apple through the phone line. 'God I want an apple!'

"What does that have to do with being haunted?"

"You're not being haunted, you pansy. Your instincts are telling you that something is wrong, just listen to them."

"And you're sure this'll go away?" I asked. Hoping for just a little more insight. Because as far as I was concerned, every word he said was bullshit!

"Nope." He said simply, taking another bite of his apple, and then hanging up.

'Fuck.'

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That night, when everyone was sitting around the campfire singing and making smores, I pulled Nick to the side and told him everything. (About last night, not the "I'm a Werewolf thing.) And just as I'd predicted, he didn't believe me.

"Fine then, stay up with me, and then we'll see who's the idiot!"

"Deal. But when nothing happens, you have to give me your day off!" He said, extending his had as a deal.

"I hate you." I said jokingly, while I took it and shook.

******************************************************************************

That night was louder than the last. Every beast in the animal kingdom was making some kind of noise, and it was doing more than just irritating me. That is, until the crying started. It was low at first, like last time. And just like last time, Nick had passed out right before it happened. I was just about to try to get some sleep, but that was pretty much an impossibility now.

I looked around as the sounds grew louder and louder. The cries came closer and closer, bearing down on me, but I saw nothing. Sure it was dark, but even with _my_ sight, I couldn't see anything. But I could feel. And what I felt, were drops of water on my head.

I swatted against my hair at first, surprised by the droplets. And as more and more of them came down, I began to smell salt. And the only liquid that I knew was clear and smelt like salt... was tears.

Looking up, I made contact.

She stood straight up on the roof, yet her long black hair fell upwards, as if she was on the ground. She had deep yellow eyes, and skin white as snow. Her clothes were ripped and dirty, mud clumped around her feet.

That's all I could collect from the image before she jumped down at me. And in my surprise, I pushed her away whilst she was in mid-air. And I was knocked off balance, and the only thing I could land on, was the window. With a yell and the sound of shattering glass, I fell through. Painful shards of glass stuck into my back and arms as I lay on the ground, my legs still hanging on the window sill.

As voices arose around me, shock started to sink in. I became cold all of the sudden, and I could barely speak as my vision started to fade. And within the minute, I passed out.

******************************************************************************

I awoke in the camp clinic. The onsite ambulance had me patched up before I woke up, and a good thing too, because it stung like a sun burn when I moved.

"I saw her." Came a voice beside me.

I looked to see Nick staring at me, awestruck. "You were right..."

I knew I was right, but now where do I go. If this isn't instinct... well, _what the fuck was it?!_


	6. Beautiful Encounter

Nick and I were very discreet about what we saw. Even when they told us that someone had strung up a CPR dummy to the roof, (To which we feigned belief) we knew better. The dummy was hard, plastic, and bright pink. It wore a normal Camp uniform, which was the Camp T-shirt, and a pair of jeans. It was also bald, with patched up eyes for first aid. This wasn't what either of us saw.

But regardless of how sure we were right, we had no one too believe us, and now... we were separated. Because of my slight injuries, it was protocol to keep me in the clinic for at least a day of recovery. And between Nick, and Mr. Seymour, no one else visited me. I mean, it wasn't like I knew anyone else besides that dick boss of ours (Nick and I). And I was sure that I'd be okay without a visit from him.

Though, he did seem a little more relaxed on behalf of my incident. Meaning, he let Nick have a few extra hours off during lunch. And when he came by, I was almost totally healed. But, being what I was, and not wanting to risk exposing it, I kept my bandages on. It gave the impression that I was still hurt. I even winced when I moved to make it more believable. (Something my dad was quick to instruct me on when I called him after my injury.)

Whilst we ate, (His meal was a meager sandwich, so it made me feel a little guilty for wanting more than my two with Bologna) he filled me in on what people were saying about what happened. He said that he'd be lying if he said they weren't making fun of me, which I had no problem with. If I'd have seen this happen to someone, I'd laugh. But then he said they were planning something mean for when I got back. I was sure that it'd have to be something with that damn dummy. But all I could do was wait.

To add insult to injury, he informed me that they were using the blob today. And he got to jump on it first. Said, he launched some six year old half way across the lake. Which, when I finally saw the tower built for it, wasn't impossible. Nick was thicker than me, but I was a scrawny, tall... guy. He was leaner, and looked stronger, but between the many, many challenges we bestow upon each other, I would beg to differ. I'd beaten him in arm wrestling, real wrestling. Once I'd even won twenty bucks in a bet from him. He said I couldn't over power his XR-100, and after two practices, I did. The bike didn't move! But after that, I had to lay low with my strength. At least, that's what my dad told me.

But aside from all of that, I did have another problem that was creeping up on me. I had nowhere to change. Usually, I'd use every Thursday, as a day where I can go change, hunt, and be happy. (To which Nick always bothered me about.) I'd always say it was a doctor's appointment, but the both of us knew that was a lie. And after five years of friendship, he was fine with me keeping a few secrets. It's not like hadn't had any.

But here, I was surrounded by twelve troops of just-fewer than twenty kids each, with three camp counselors to a troop. Two for supervision, and one (Mr. Fredericks, for Nick and I) for activity manager. Then the twenty three people who I shared a shack with. Also the ex-green beret, with his scheduled, Bear Detailers. It was definitely going to be a chore.

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I snuck out the window of the clinic. The crisp night air was all that I'd imagined it would be. And thankfully, it didn't hail the wail of the ghost girl! Instead, it was the most silent I'd ever heard it. But, I'd figured it was just because I was creeping around at the dead of night.

Snoring children filled the giant tents I crept between, careful not to have my shadow line their walls. The last thing I needed was to get caught. Because with a bathroom in my shack, there was no other excuse left for me to use. I could say that I thought I saw someone in the woods, but having someone accompany me, or even know that I was in there, would ruin my night completely.

I ran along the outer rim of the camp when I was free of my troop's tent. It wasn't hard to avoid the bear watchers, seeing as they were asleep in the tower. All in all, I was running into some good luck. And once I passed through the threshold for the woods, I started sprinting. I occasionally glanced back to make sure I wasn't being followed, but all my eyes met with, were the closely packed trees and thick brush of the forest. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Stopping near the end of the lakes longest run off, I decided to rest. Drinking hand full, after handful of water, I listened to my surroundings. If someone had followed me, I'd hear them. Even if they were two hundred yards out, there were too many brittle sticks and too much broken foliage to run across to not make a sound, and when (After thirty minutes of stalling for paranoia) the coast seemed clear, I undressed, folded my clothes, and changed.

The first thing I did after changing was jump in the water. I'd never swam before, not in this state, and if there was ever a time (Seeing as how there was nowhere to indulge this experience back at home) I might as well do it now.

I quickly learned that it wasn't as fun as I'd thought. With my thick coat soaking up as much water as possible, I began to sink. Fighting for leverage on the lake floor, six feet under, I pushed off and swam ashore.

Gasping, and a little angry at my stupidity, I walked out of the lake, and away from the water. As far as I was concerned, I never wanted to see that part of the lake again. And now, with no swimming, I turned to the one and only thing that was perfect for the form I'd chosen for the night... hunting.

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Other than catching a few frogs under my paws, the entire night was a bust. So without much time to spare before sun up, I decided to head back to the camp. Which didn't really bother me that I'd been out all night, because for some strange reason, when a werewolf changes, when I changed, it felt like I'd gotten a nights rest, and then some. I always thought it was because of the energy that we collected from the change, and the adrenaline that comes with it.

And so I walked, Naked, back to my clothes. I'd made it a habit, (at least before I came here) just in case someone saw me, I could blame it on my skinny dipping. And sure it was a horrible lie, which left me feeling a little awkward after thinking about it, but it was better than the alternative.

I couldn't imagine having to (What my father would call) clean up. I shuddered at the thought. But that was the rule, the one rule no one broke, and the one rule that struck more fear in me than any other. And just as a side note, I liked my green eyes more than my dad's big blues.

The sudden smell of people sailed across my nose as I entered the clearing where I left my clothes... Which weren't there anymore...

I looked around frantically to see if anyone had been watching, and saw no one. There was only their scent. And by it, I could only guess it to be female... around my age, and by herself.

Checking the brush around where I'd left my clothes told me two things. One, she was a thief. And two, she had shaky handwriting, which was clearly present on the note she left behind for me. And by the looks of it, she'd left it there sometime before the morning dew settled on it.

Written on regular, three-punched paper, in a light blue ink (Probably deluded from the dew), was the worst bit of scribble scratch I had ever seen. And it said:

I know what you are. And if you want your clothes back before someone sees you running around naked, and then meet me two miles west of here! And be quick, wolfy!

Love,

Witchy

P.S. You might want to hurry!!!

I read over that last part twice before I realized what she was talking about. Because as I finished the note, the morning trumpeter's song came blaring over the camp intercom. My day couldn't have started any worse...


	7. The Worst Kind

"This sucks!" I complained to myself, moving from tree to tree so no one would see me. "Two miles west, she says! That doesn't sound like overkill at all!"

Further and further away from the camp I trailed, not stopping for anything. Every couple of minutes I'd feel like I was being followed, but it was just paranoia from me running around naked. Only hidden by two large bushes I held around my mid section. At the time, I could have sworn I'd seen someone do this on TV. But I couldn't figure it out, nor did I care enough to dwell on it.

It took me about forty-five minutes, (half tip-toeing, and half speed-walking) to get there. And the only thing I had with me to help me keep my way, was that perfume like scent of hers. If I had to compare the smells, I'd say it smelt like lemons. "Of course she smells like lemons." I said to myself, "Sour and yellow. Who steals clothes for blackmail?! A coward, that's who!"

I continued to bitch and moan the entire way until I was met with a bright red shack, built like a barn, but leveled off, not with a rounded roof like the ones I was used to seeing. To be honest, it looked more like somewhere a pilot might shelter his/her plane. But all I had to go on was the back of it. And even though every fiber in my being told me not to go around... well I listened.

Instead of going around front, I decided to use that cunning that's preceded the reputation of us wolves for so many years. And spotting a smashed out window on the right side of the red shack, perfect for entry. If only all that glass wasn't lying there. I hadn't noticed it until I stepped on a big shard. Thankfully it didn't cut me, I was just fast enough to crack it then hop off. All that tip-toeing all the way here was definitely good practice.

As I clambered over the broken glass, I thought it odd that the glass would be on the outside. Well, that just meant it was smashed out from the inside. Not useful information for someone like me, but a good thing to note. Just in case I had to make a quick exit. The broken glass would definitely slow any attackers down. I just needed to pray they weren't wearing shoes.

The inside of the shack was disgusting at best. Animal feces strewn all over the floor, most likely from rats. A rotting ceiling that looked like it would collapse any second. The walls molded over from whatever was covering them, I could only guess wallpaper, seeing as how I couldn't remember whether paint molded of corroded. There was essentially, nothing in this entire shack. Sure there was an overhang, but it looked to be filled with useless junk. From where I stood, I could see nasty, old blankets, horse saddles, what looked like a rusted tri-cycle, a couple of horribly rotten, wooden boxes, (I could see eyes through them, probably rats) and a stack of neatly folded clothes. I instantly recognized them as mine, and without a second thought I jumped up and snatched them. The overhang was only about eight feet up, and they were, right there. Besides, I'm a werewolf, remember.

I graciously got dressed, quick to put on my underwear first, then my dirt scented jeans, and lastly, my dirt scented shirt and socks. I smelt like I slept outside, which I had to admit, smelt better than this place.

"Now where's the bitch that started this horrible day!"

No answer to my question sounded.

Instead, came a different sound. Like something fluttering above, like a birds wings. But when I looked up, I definitely wasn't looking at a bird. I was looking right into a pair of yellow eyes, glimmering behind dead, black hair. And this time, they weren't full of tears.

With a horrifying shriek, she launched down at me, her finger nails were like claws, aimed right for my face. And without time to react, I threw up my hands and prayed for luck. And it came in the form of my hands catching her by the wrists. She struggled and jerked wildly, kicking me in the stomach. Her five year old body thrashed as I tried to calm her, and once I thought I'd gained control, she surprised me.

Blood erupted from her mouth as it hit me right in the face. Coagulated and disgusting, it slid through my hair, and soaked my shirt. I almost puked, but fear held me in place as she shrieked some more and kicked me harder.

"JUST STOP!" I yelled, hoping it would help. It didn't. She ran up my stomach with her bare feet, and pushed herself away off my neck. It choked me for a second, and when I finally got over it, I felt her strike the back of my legs with what felt like a block of wood.

I winced and jumped mid fall, to counter her second attack, if there ever was to be one. But when I turned around, she was gone. Rather, I couldn't see her. The blood on my face had forced my left eye shut, and even when I rubbed at the crusting red puke, it didn't do much for my vision. I felt a drop of it creep under my eye lid... and that's when it all went bad.

My legs gave way from under me and I collapsed to the floor. My arms went numb, and as I fell, my right bent backwards under me, and my head smashed against the hard, dirt floor. I couldn't tell if I was bleeding, but it did feel a lot cooler on the ground. My stomach clenched, my lungs became restricted. All I could see was what lay directly in front of me, which was the demon girl, and a pair of light-skinned feet wearing light-brown flip-flops.

"Took you long enough to go down." She said. Her ankles crossed together as she leaned against the wall, that was all I could see of her. "I'd thought your kind were stronger than that."

"Bitch." Is what I wanted to come out of my mouth. But all my lungs could produce was the babbling of a few Bs.

"Now don't go blaming me for getting beaten up by a little five year old! She's the one who's brought you here, not me!"

I really didn't care who did it, they were going to pay. As soon as I could breathe again, stand up, move my arms, and maybe wake up a little more. In my mind, there was going to be hell to pay.

The demon girl, seemed intrigued by me for some reason, walking closer and closer to me, her hand outstretched, she touched my forehead.

Flashes of her memories poured into my head. And they were horrifying. I'm being serious now. If you have a fear of the truth, then don't read any further. Because what happened to this girl... is graphic, even by my definition. So if you want, just pretend she was murdered and continue to the next paragraph, because in reality, the such, is a lie. And for those who read on, I'll try to keep it short. Something like this doesn't deserve detail.

I could feel my arms being squeezed by the giant, black figure in the memory. I could feel my nose being broken from his curled fist as I watched how she fought. Her beautiful black hair was pulled and yanked as he dragged her through the woods. Cursing at her to be quiet or he'd kill her. And as he dragged her farther and farther down the path he'd known so well, I could feel my heart give way.

I watched, through her own eyes, as he beat her till she was barely unconscious, and then raped her against the very boxes that lay above me where I lay. Over and over again, this sick sadist pushed her face against the horse saddles, blankets lay across it like a makeshift bed. And after he was done, he threw her off the balcony like a rag doll. I watched sickened as she slammed into the wall and rolled down to the ground, her neck snapping, her eyes closing. The end of her life was long and painful, and ended with her staring right back into her murderer's uncaring eyes. The eyes that shared my company many times while I was here. Those same eyes that held such imagination when he told his ghost stories. The eyes of the man who claimed to be a man of God. Seymour.

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Her hand fell from my forehead, yet her face was still unchanged. She just stared, uncaring, and without life. Just a walking memory of a dead child. And as soon as she was done with me, she stood up, stopping by the girl who lead me her, if only for a second, to hug her, and then she was gone.

I could feel whatever had come over me earlier, lift away like a breeze. And once it did, I jumped up, and curled my changing hands around the girl's throat. Tears ran down my face, rage pumped into my system like it had never before, and I squeezed. I never, EVER, wanted to see anything like that, and yet, she trapped me here, and forced it on me like it didn't even matter to her.

She gasped for air between my fingers as I pressed my thumbs to her throat. I could hear her straining to tell me to stop. But I didn't listen. Instead, I held her right before death. Her throat only three pounds of pressure from collapsing under my grip, and I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted her to live.

But then an image of Claire came into my head. She had feared for my life, and tried to protect me from my father, and here I was, becoming him. This feeling of ruthlessness washed out of my system as quickly as it had entered and I released her.

I could feel my skin revert back to normal as I sat back on the ground, trying not to sob. I pushed myself back until I was against the hard wall of the shack. My knees came up to my crossing arms and I rested my tired head between them. I shook, I cried, yet I didn't know what to do.

The girl gasped and gulped the air that I'd deprived from her. I didn't care what she did; I just wanted to be alone. The pain from what I saw recoiled against my body. And even though I knew I had to kill her, rather, everyone I lived with would tell me that; I couldn't find the will to stand, let alone end my first life.

As I lifted my head, my red eyes landed upon her, the look on her face was wide-eyed and curious. She had no idea what I was thinking. Those prettied brown eyes, surrounded by makeup; her entire face was covered by that crap. Black lip stick, black fingernails. She was Goth definitely. One of the first I'd ever seen.

"So this is what it feels like to be attacked by a werewolf?" She asked herself. It'd be stupid if she had asked me.

"Shut up." I barked at her. My eyes crossed between hers and the closest exit nearest her, and when I saw that I could out run her, I sighed. There was no getting out of this. It was either her or me. And when I looked back at her to speak, I felt the weight of the question that I was about to ask her hit me square in the chest. This was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do, and yet, she just lied there. Laid back propped up by one arm, the other caressing her throat, her mouth agape, her body shaking at what I might do.

"You really shouldn't have bothered me." I sighed.

"Yeah..."


	8. Tension and Deciet

I shifted my weight forward as I stood.

"What are you doing?" She asked, tensing as she lay on the floor.

Rage burned down deep inside of me. Why did it have to be this way? What did my father, my uncle, our entire race, fear would happen?! Why were we condemned to kill?

"You don't have t-to do this." She whispered. Her arm trembling under her. Her stutter reminding me of the one I once held. But that was long ago.

I started the transformation in my right arm only. And before I knew it, my arm was black, and my claws were sharp and poised, ready to strike. "I'm sorry..." I whispered back.

She began to kick away from me, but I was already too close, even if she had stood earlier, I'd be bound by blood to track her down. There was no easy way out this time. No one was here to rescue her, nor myself. No one showed to whisk her away as I pulled her up by her camp named T-shirt. No hero emerged from the forest to cut me down before I raised my arm to kill. And no one answered her when she cried for help.

And right then, the thread of her life on the verge of being cut, my life as a child poised on the brink of ruin, a thought occurred to me. It was a short one, and something to make me smile a little on the inside, but it wasn't enough to keep me from striking fast, and striking hard.

SNAP!!!

The wall behind her splintered into pieces as I punched it, the girl fell to the floor. I couldn't do it. I was a monster, I was a killer, but I was never a murderer. I was never going to be like my father, no matter how much I respected and loved him. We were different... I was different. And this horrible decision, of whether or not she was to live, wasn't mine to make.

"You're not going to kill me?" She asked.

"No."

I turned away from her and headed for the door. There was so much trouble brewing in my future, that I could already feel the cold hand of death, rest on my shoulder. But regardless of what she knew, or what she did... Maybe I was just being stupid, but she didn't deserve it.

"Wait!" She yelled at me as I grabbed the door knob. "Why didn't you?"

"Because," I said quietly, "I have my prey for the evening. And regardless of whether or not you knew what secret that little girl held, you'll be seen as an enemy in my eyes, and the eyes of my kind." I turned on her, with what felt like the fury of an entire race standing on my shoulders. "And if you ever tell anyone about this, someone, somewhere, will hunt you, and kill you. Understood?" The tone was definitely that of my father. I couldn't help it, because believe it or not, I was trying for nice but stern.

But I saw my point got across to her, as she nodded. And as I left, that little thought occurred again, it was just a small question, but it raised many others, as it was once asked to me by a crazy man with a guitar.

"Why did you sign your name 'Witchy'?"

She smiled.

******************************************************************************

Emily Dawson was her name. And she was a witch. Though when I asked if she could prove it, she just replied "Not right now." She's been to this camp twice now, as a counselor's helper, same as Nick and I. And just as with me, she was visited by the crying girl on her first night. As she described it, the crying girl was much nicer to her than to me. She didn't jump at her and try to tear her eyes out on their first meeting, instead, they "linked." It was a witch thing, I told myself. Though, as she described it, her experience was the exact same as mine. But still, I felt that there were too many things left unanswered in her story. She only looked to be about thirteen, and thirteen was the youngest you could be too work here. She also never explained how she knew what I was, nor have I ever seen her at the Camp. I mean, I know I have a short attention span, but I'd definitely recall having seen a Goth at a Christian summer camp.

But, instead of harping away at her with questions, I kept it inside. I knew she was hiding something from me. And it would only be a matter of time before she let it slip. And even if she didn't, I could easily smell a lie.

"So what now what?" She asked.

"Now, I'm going to go back to camp, rest a little, wake up for dinner, eat, change, and brutalize a pedophile once I'm ready." She snickered a little, but I was dead serious.

"You can't just go back to camp and kill him!" She blurted out at me, like I'd just mentioned I was going to take over the world or something equally as stupid!

Such an odd conversation.

"And why not? It's not the hardest thing in the world to do." I barked back at her.

"You couldn't kill me." She snapped back. A retort I wasn't the least bit prepared for.

I sighed. She was right. And yet, I couldn't beat him in this form without some type of help. I couldn't turn him in to the cops. They wouldn't believe us at all! I surely couldn't just go after him either. I would be the prime suspect, almost instantly. Especially after disappearing all day. And what about Emily?

"Then what do you suppose we do?" I yelled at her. Frustrated by being boxed in by horrible choices in an unfair circumstance.

"Go back to camp. I'll figure something out."

"Just like that?" I asked sarcastically. "Do you even remember what happened to that girl? And you expect me-"

"YES!" She yelled, finally fed up. "Just trust me. I've got a few ideas." She rubbed her palms to her eyes and stood up, opened the shack door, and pushed me out.

Simple day.

******************************************************************************

It was about three O' clock when I crawled back into the clinic. It would have been sooner but I had to clean the blood from my face, hair, and shirt before I did anything. And from the look of the place when I got back there, I could tell that the nurse hadn't even come to check up on me. As a matter of fact, of the few people that saw me come back into camp, no one seemed to have even noticed I was gone. It was like I'd just go out for an early jog and was just getting back. Something was wrong.

Not even getting in the bed I went over to the nurses office, to the right of six empty beds, and through a small waiting room. She sat at her desk, her beak nose stuffed right in the middle of a romance novel. She didn't even notice me enter.

"Mrs. Travenski?"

"Yes?" She asked annoyed at my being there.

"I'm feeling better; can I get back to helping my friend Nick with his chores?" I felt so weird asking for work, and I'm sure Nick would be slow to believe that I would as well.

"Sure, if your wounds are gone."

And when I told her they were, she had no problems with letting me go. And so, without another seconds waste, I headed outside to find Nick. And it wasn't long before I found him. I could hear him swear loudly as he dropped what appeared to be the box with the trampoline in it. I had taped it red when we packed it before the trip, just so I knew where it was. What? I love trampolines!

As I neared him though, a laugh caught my attention behind him. And to my displeasure, came the girl with the black fingernails. As I saw my best friend bend over to pull the box of his foot, I watched as she rubbed his back with a face that screamed "Oh, poor baby." She helped him to his feet, and I didn't want to believe it, but as she did so, I heard her speak. "Let's get the rest of the boxes so we can get back to you, and me."

What the hell was she doing?!


	9. Plot Against

I barreled over two fences, and sprinted over seventy yards the minute I saw the two separate. I couldn't wait another second. It was one thing to rope me into whatever horrible plan she had rolling around in that devious little mind of hers, but it was another to even look at my best friend.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I yelled at her, half ignoring the stares of my peers across the shell driveway. All of them, half emptying trucks, the other half moving furniture, props, and other camp property.

"What are you talking about?" She spat back at me.

"Why are you trying to pull Nick into this?" I asked, a little quieter this time. I really, really didn't want any more eyes on us than normal.

"I just met Nick!" She made me seem like a jealous ex-boyfriend with that statement. Something that I couldn't stand to have placed upon me. Instantly, it makes me into a bad guy, even if it wasn't true. I find that people trust their eyes more than anything else. And seeing this, I yelling at her for talking to my friend, was definitely a one sided battle. Especially if things got ugly.

"It's a little thing, us Humans, call communication! But you wouldn't know that? Would you?" I hated being put on the spot as it was, but she was calling me out. And all the while, that little smirk on her face, told me I was destined to lose this argument the minute I started towards her. I knew that right after my next retort; I'd be risking her exposing me. Black mail was an ugly thing, but here, when I let it happen on sheer principle (of saving a life), it was just disgusting.

Making sure not to make any contact with her what so ever, I moved in closer to her. "I'm finishing this tonight, and afterwards, you'll either forget this ever happened..."

She snorted. "Or what? Are you going to come after me?" She said, her tone was pouty sarcasm. I think this was the first time; I really wanted to kill someone. But for now, a threat would have to do.

"I have people for that."

Seeing Nick come out of the bathroom, was a perfect cue to leave. I wasn't sure whether he noticed me or not, but it didn't matter. It wasn't going to keep me from doing the dirty deed set out before me, nor was it going to help my situation with Emily at the current moment.

So sore, and defeated, I walked back to my hut, and went right to bed. My instincts were going haywire, and I knew something was wrong. Nothing about this entire trip has felt right, and now, I'd dug a whole so deep, even my father couldn't dig me out... or could he?

******************************************************************************

I was going to kill someone tonight. That much I knew. It wasn't pretty, nor ethical, moral, or even in my best interest. I was being blackmailed, and as far as that I was concerned, it needed to stop immediately. And knowing this, I made my move.

Stopping along the way to the head cabin, only to meet up with the witch. She seemed a little cheery tonight. I was still tired from the six hours of total sleep I barely enjoyed, as it was sandwiched in between two days of conflict and fear. And as we went over the terribly simple plan of killing a man in his sleep, like a dog, I could sense her own little plan, finally coming into play.

From the moment I'd awoken, stuffed the CPR dummy (that everyone had been so gracious to hide under the covers of my bed before I got back) back under the blankets to mimic my form, and escaped through the window, I knew I was being watched. Humans call it a sixth-sense, or paranoia, we called an insight to a double cross. It was something I'd been mentally preparing myself for all day.

And if I had to guess who it was, I'd have to say it was Nick. I've seen her talking to him, and where as that wasn't a lot to convince someone of foul play, it was enough to set off my suspicions. The main reason being time and circumstance. But now, all I really wanted to know was why.

As we headed up the back steps to the cabin, we found it, surprisingly, unlocked. Which meant, that either Seymour was in on... Whatever this was, or maybe he was just a little too trusting. And if it were my guess, the former would be more believable. There was no way an ex-Green Beret, was going to be this trusting around normal people. Especially if he'd been in battle!

The hinges couldn't have been quieter as we entered, and the cabin couldn't have been any darker. I could see, don't get me wrong, but there was absolutely no assisting light in the entire house. No bathroom light left on, the Caller ID on the end table near the couch was unplugged, as well as the VCR and TV parallel to the couch. He knew we were coming.

I debated whether or not to actually do this, having instilled a pause on what the little girl showed me (noting that it could be a fake, she did say she was a witch.) And before I could make that choice, Emily shoved me forward, barking at me quietly not to block the door way.

Forced inside, I really had no choice but to scope the place out like I normally would. And in this place. Subtlety was not key in what interested this man. Occult drawings, sculptures, books on witchcraft and demonology literally filled his small bookshelves. Not much of a good read for a holy man. I'd also noticed he held no remnants of ever being in the military, anywhere in his house. Such an odd man.

Emily was still fumbling around in the dark when I noticed the most disturbing detail of the house. A large, white skull lay staring at me from the top of his meager entertainment center. The large eye sockets, wide base, long snout. It was either a bear, or one of my kind. I feared the later much more than the first. And if that was the case, then I was definitely going to stall for time.

"Well?" I said, waving my arms up at Emily, making her jump.

"_Don't do that!_" She whispered at me, glaring angrily.

"Sorry. But what now?"

"Well, if he isn't here..." She said, patronizing me, "then maybe we should do more than just stand in the living room, and go upstairs!"

"Fine."

"Fine."

******************************************************************************

The way up the stairs was treacherous. With Emily, holding on to my shirt, blind as a bat, and stumbling on every step, I didn't think we'd make it to the top. And as we ascended, so did the my stomach. Each step forward, was another mistake in my eyes, but it was necessary. I had no choice.

As we clambered to the top, I could hear the flickering of a lit candle. And it came directly too my left. It was the first room upstairs, and the only one with light coming out of it. It was also the only room with the door opened, that definitely said something about her plans. They were directions.

The smell of pipe tobacco filled the upstairs hallway, at least to me. For her, it was probably just a whiff. But even then, she didn't note it. She knew he was awake and unsurprisingly, I knew she'd been in this house before. If I really wanted to delve deeper, I'd go so far as to say she'd been here numerous times. Or at least enough to get use to his smoking. Just another thing on my long list that made me feel a little less encouraged to continue. At least, that was before he spoke.

"You've already made it this far, just come in already." He beckoned from the well lit room. "It's getting late!"


	10. Tie Breaker

"Please sit." He said, motioning with his left hand for me to sit across from him. He sat in a fine leather recliner; it must've cost him a grand or two for one as nice as this. As for ours, they were regular kitchen table chairs, dragged upstairs for a special occasion and for that only. I chose the one, closest to the door, forcing Emily to the chair with less of an advantage than I. I was not in the mood for chivalry tonight.

"Thank you," I said sitting. "You have a beautiful home." I put on my father's smile. I'd never gotten to use it before, but if I was anything like him, I'd definitely have plenty more chances in the future... if I had a future. All I knew was that the smile was working. I just needed to kill him with kindness, and when I had the chance, with violence.

"You're a strange kid, Michael." He said, eying my reaction. I sat in my chair, with that quaint little half-smile on my face. I'd crossed my left leg on top of my right when I sat down. Just in case if anything happened, I could kick the coffee table between us, into him, and start running with my strong let. Like in chess, you always need to be a step ahead.

"Not as strange as your daughter, apparently." I said, looking over to Emily.

Seymour laughed, but Emily seemed less enthusiastic. I guess it hurt her pride that I knew, even more so that she wasn't in complete control of the situation.

"So you people are just like I'd imagined." He said, clapping his hands once. I noticed his tobacco pipe barely catch the ember inside the bowl as he did so. I also noticed a small pistol strapped to his left leg, under his robe, as he shuffled in his chair. Old age, I prayed, made him sloppy. "Isn't that right?"

"I don't know what you're getting at, sir." I said, watching his face. He didn't seem at all upset that I was avoiding exposure, even though we both knew what I was. I also didn't want Nick to know, because he was near, and he was listening.

"Just cut the bullshit!" Emily yelled at me. 'Temper, temper' I thought, something I might be able to use. I just needed to improvise.

"Emily! Please!" Seymour yelled, quieting her on the spot. "Don't be rude, we've got all night to play this game if he wants to."

We really didn't, and I was grateful that they didn't know this.

"Can I ask a question?" I asked, not wanting to interrupt the two. I thought it a blessing that the two were different in every conceivable way. Something else that could be of possible use. But at the moment, I was thinking of two things, myself, and my friend.

"Sure." He replied.

"Why is Nick here?"

"You are a quick one, aren't you?" He said smiling. Taking his time too answer, he puffed on the last little bit of tobacco, and then dumped his ashes into the ash tray on the table before us. Until now, I hadn't recognized his refined accent, it sounded a little British.

"You seem a little worried for him. Now why is that?"

"Because he's my friend." I said, sternly.

"Is it, now? It's not because you'll have to kill him if he knows about you?"

A cold sweat was lining under the skin on my brow. She must've told him how I'd reacted when we first met, which wasn't good. The less he knew, the more in control I could become. This was not good at all.

"It's both, if you want to split hairs."

"No, I hate those types of people. Rather, I do want to know why you came here tonight. You knew it was a trap, and you knew your friend was involved. Did that false memory Emily make up, enrage you so much, that you thought you'd actually kill a human being?" He asked, rising from his chair and walking around behind it to rest against. I'd never noticed how formidable he actually was until he stood. He was about my height, six foot even, if not larger, and he hid his body well with the robe. Underneath, he wore blue jeans and a gun, so he knew he might have a fight on his hands, but whether or not he was going to instigate, was totally up to him.

As for his question, I didn't answer. Nor did I have an answer, rather, one that would keep his hand away from the gun.

"Let me re-phrase that. Why did you fall so stupidly, into a trap you saw miles away?"

The question hurt a little, but instead of holding my tongue, I answered.

"Stupidity is ignorance of facts. I didn't fall in; I jumped in after my friend. My question is, why would you call this a trap... if you're not in control."

He narrowed his brow, trying to read me. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, your daughter isn't much of a trail, if she lets me out of her sight to... tamper with things."

"Father!" She pleaded.

He raised his hand to stop her. Then, he locked his eyes onto mine. "You're bluffing."

"You can call me now", I said, leaning forward, "-and deal with the outbreak in the morning. Or you can stop this little act of yours, sit back down, and cut the bullshit."

"What did you do?" He asked. Whereas he was skeptical, he did walk back to the front of his chair, and sit. Which was exactly the control I was looking for.

"I spit in someone's canteen." I said, smiling a little as I did. "And when they wake up in the morning, and go to take a sip of their water, they'll be infected. And unlike regular poison", I added, "This doesn't wash out."

Silence fell between the two of us.

"Father?" Emily asked, trying to talk to him. But as I'd guessed, he was more interested in me than her. Perfect.

What's even better was the fact that he took out his gun, unloaded it, ejected the clip, and set it on the table.

"Knife too." I said, just guessing. I was a little excited when I saw him pull it out though. It was definitely one of my better moments.

"Smart boy."

"Enough crap. What about Nick?"

He seemed hesitant at first, but then he gave Emily a nod, and she snapped her finger. Out came Nick, like a zombie, from the back of the room, hidden behind a book case. He was possessed, just like the CPR dummy! So this was the power of a witch! I'd been skeptical at first, but it was quite brilliant.

"Can he hear me?" I asked, standing.

"No." Seymour stated.

"Good."


	11. Rescue

Nick was far gone before I drew myself away from the window. "Why didn't you do that with me?" I asked turning around to face my two "Captors".

Emily looked down at her feet. But Seymour was quick to answer. Even though, I really didn't care about that, seeing as how the end of this little conversation was already within view.

"It's hard enough of a strain on Emily to control a regular person. Add your ability to shape-shift, and it becomes way too much." He said. I wanted to respect his worry for his daughter, but he practically sent her into the arms of death when she confronted me. I didn't buy the intent in his voice.

I sat back down in my chair. I wasn't worried about much of anything now. He was emotional, sort of, and she was furious.

"What did yall plan to do?" I asked, speaking my mind. "I saw your little trophy on top of your entertainment center. That's why I ask." I said, letting the real me out. Curious and always wanting to learn.

"That old thing? I found that in northern California about six years ago. That was back when my initial curiosity was in witchcraft. An obsession that was bred from my daughter's ability to control certain objects."

"That doesn't answer my question." I said, stopping him from continuing.

"Your blood." Emily said, speaking up after her long silence. "You keep it all to yourselves!" She yelled, her father tried to quiet her, but she continued. "All the while, people die from disease!"

"EMILY!!!" He boomed over her voice. She became quiet, though, she seemed to be tearing up around her eyes. That was it! This whole fiasco was for... I turned to Seymour, disgusted.

"That wasn't your plan though." I said, staring him square in the eye.

He scowled, it was the first time I'd seen it, but deep inside of his stare, was desperation. "You're dying."

Silence stapled his lips shut, even his daughter stayed quiet. All the while, a smoldering rage built itself inside of me.

"You sent, your only daughter, after _me?"_

"It's not like that!" He yelled, rising to his feet.

"She could have died, but that didn't matter. Not if you could live another day!" I yelled back at him.

Emily was speechless and looked to her father with shock. I couldn't blame her.

On the other hand, he'd taken a much more direct approach to the situation. And I saw it coming. As he shot for the gun on the table, I grabbed the knife, and kicked the table across the room. He was much slower than I would have pegged a fifty year old to be. Whereas, he was still a little muscular, he was no match for what I had to offer.

Though, as I stood across from him, poised to strike him down if he went for the gun, a familiar scent hit me, all too fast.

Nick kicked open the door, still possessed, and grabbed me from behind. Seymour smiled. "You shouldn't have hesitated, Michael." He said, bending over to pick up his gun. "Hesitation is a sign of weakness." He slid the clip back in and pulled the cover back, allowing it to click into place as it slid the first bullet into the chamber. "And weakness..." He said, "Is failure."

And right as he pulled against the trigger, a large black arm swung from behind him, grabbed his arm, and capped the gun. The blast was muffled as the bullet shot right through my father's hand. He didn't flinch at all. His blue eyes were level and fierce as he stared at Seymour. Emily screamed, but there was nothing she could do.

Nick let go of me, probably released from Emily's control due to her shock.

My dad raised his thick, tree trunk arm high into the air, until it scraped against the ceiling. His jet black fur was frayed and shot right out of his skin, giving his wild appearance even more of a boost. I didn't have much time, as his hand came down like the hammer of God. Seymour couldn't move as imminent death came at him like a train, and as I slid under my dad's rage, and between the two warring fathers, I felt the true power of my father.

I held my arms above my head, crossed, and caught the blunt force unprepared. It was enough to divert the attack, but not enough to hold my ground. I was brought down as if I was clothes lined. Dropping like a rock.

Collapsing to the floor, I looked Seymour in the eye, then my father, who even when changed, looked confused. "Don't kill him." I said, out of wind, trying to pick myself up off the floor. The task proving far too difficult for me to manage.

An unsuspecting hand came to my aid as Emily helped me up.

I thanked her, and then motioned to my father that we should leave. And after guiding Nick into the car my dad came in, Emily stopped me. "You were bluffing when you said you'd spit in someone's canteen... right?"

I smiled. "No. I spit in my canteen to kill the bacteria. Besides, I'd have to be changed to infect someone."

She smiled. "You _are_ pretty smart." And without warning, she stepped forward, and kissed me on the cheek.

"What was that for?" I asked in surprise.

"For saving my father from that monster." She said.

My father was still out in the woods, to change and get dressed. I thought it funny that she'd think of him as a monster. But...

"That's my dad." I said, smirking a little more than I should have.

Her eyes grew wide, as she exclaimed, "That's Your Dad!"

"Yeah, that's what Nick said when _he _saw my dad for the first time!" I laughed. A few seconds passed between us as I heard my dad coming out of the forest. He didn't look too angry for having to drive eight hours to get shot and save his son.

Seymour though, he looked pitiful as he sat on the stairs to his cabin.

"Is he going to be alright?" I asked out of pity.

Instead of answering me though, Emily looked me in the eye. "There's something different about you." She stated. "Every single werewolf story I'd ever heard makes you out to be a ruthless killing machine. But that isn't you at all."

"It's just because humans are slow prey." I joked. She laughed, and we said our goodbyes. As I watched her out of the rear window, over the unconscious Nick in the back seat, I started to feel bad for the both of them. But as I looked over at my dad's hand, wrapped in a torn shirt, he'd stolen from the house where he'd been shot; I started to feel a little less sorry for them.

"How's your hand?" I asked.

"How are your arms?" He asked.

They hurt like hell, and I was pretty sure that my bones were bruised. That how my arms were. And after a while in serene silence, we both started laughing.

I am his son after all.


End file.
